Together
by Planxty-Faeries
Summary: Every night he sits in the café, plotting and arguing until those around him can practically see his golden hair turning grey. She is there as well, always, at various distances, watching and thinking. Their connection is complicated but strong. Enjolras and Arielle. Story better than summary. Rating won't go above T, is only T just in case.
1. Chapter 1

Enjolras has always been my favorite. I couldn't help but think, however, that he HAD to love a person just as much (if not more) than France. I kind of wish I was Arielle (The one of my creation, not Disney's.) REVIEW! Please? I'll update as often as possible.

Disclaimer: If I actually owned this stuff, would I be here?

**Prologue**

When Arielle Lisette Lacoursiere was ten years old she witnessed the execution of a man in the center of Paris. Not anyone she knew, no, but it was a life all the same. Guilty of the crime of treason, treason in the form of plotting against the crown. The guns were lifted and the order was given, and the gathered crowd breathed as one, felt the man's helplessness and despair. But when the sound of gunshots rang out Arielle buried her face in her hands. She was unable to stomach the cruelty of injustice. Beneath the rising sun beliefs were lit, grown by visions, fed by dreams. Something catastrophic was set in motion that day. A life, a destiny, prepared to be fulfilled.

Vive la France.


	2. Chapter 2

Enjolras has always been my favorite. I couldn't help but think, however, that he HAD to love a person just as much (if not more) than France. I kind of wish I was Arielle (The one of my creation, not Disney's.) REVIEW! Please? I'll update as often as possible.

Disclaimer: If I actually owned this stuff, would I be here?

**Chapter 1**

At sixteen she was beautiful, strong-willed, determined. One day in the early spring of 1830 Arielle and her mother prepared to attend a matinee at the opera. The carriage bounced merrily as it flew down the streets of Paris towards the opera house. Outside beggar children ran beside the carriage, playing a precarious game of chase and hoping for a few sous. The buildings were weary, caked in soot, and Arielle's mother held a handkerchief to her nose in order to keep out the stench of the slums.

"Mama, why must we meet Madame Reaume's nephew today, of all days?"

It was quite a plague to Arielle, for she had just begun reading a new novel and was eager to finish it. Tutor was coming tomorrow and he wanted to have a discussion about Voltaire. In addition, she had already seen Rossini's La Gazza Ladra three times since December. One tired of hearing the same lines over and over. It was not even as if the weather was nice. The angry skies threatened to pour at any moment and the wind tugged the carriage back and forth.

"Dearest darling," her mother began, tightly gripping the seat. "Madame Reaume has connections and money. Her dear young nephew is home from university, where he studies to be a lawyer. Lawyers are quite wealthy my dear, and very influential. It would be oh, so wonderful, if you two were to get along incredibly well."

Marriage. Perhaps it would not be so bad, except that Arielle had yet to meet a man whose company she thoroughly enjoyed. They were all horribly dull and interested only in the army. Not an intellect among the lot of them.

The carriage finally stopped. While the women waited for the coachman to help them out Arielle's mother began tugging at her daughter's hair and dress, making Arielle feel like a dolly.

"I thank God every day for your looks. Remain silent dear girl, and the world shall be yours. Remember, men do not want a girl with wit."

"Mama, I cannot-"

But the squealing of the opening door coupled with her mother's expression silenced Arielle. Inside the huge white building, she followed her mother down the dimly lit plush-carpeted hallway to the box.

"Selene!"

The amount of powder on Madame Reaume's face made her look more than foolish when she smiled. Everything about her being flowed, smooth and snakelike, a woman well known for trading her loyalties flawlessly.

"Dear!" The older women kissed each other's cheeks. Then Madame looked to Arielle and a satisfied gleam lit her eyes.

"Mademoiselle Arielle, how lovely you have become! So much prettier than I thought you would be!"

Arielle's face burned at the backhanded compliment but she forced a smile.

"Merci, Ma-"

But Madame was already turning and reaching for someone.

"May I introduce my nephew Enjolras?"

Her mother breathed in sharply, because this nephew, this Enjolras, was gorgeous. He was like nothing she had ever seen before. His jaw was square, hair tied back into a golden tail, crinkly eyes were cornflower blue. Enjolras was tall and looked strong in his black pants and suit jacket. Arielle automatically dipped into a deep curtsy. She stared at the maroon rug and prayed desperately to God, begging Him to let Enjolras be different from the others. Once she rose she looked into his eyes and was infuriated by the indifference she saw. Inwardly Arielle harrumphed. If he did not want to get to know her, then fine. She needed him not. But as the lights dimmed and the sopranos began, Arielle could not help but glance over at him. Monsieur Enjolras' spine was iron straight but his face, so easy to read, was enraptured by the music, the story.

When the curtain fell a final time, the audience rose in thunderous applause. Tears stung Arielle's eyes. The music was so beautiful. It was the ultimate expression, a swelling of emotion indescribable through words. Like taking flight and soaring over the countryside, smelling lilacs and fresh air.

"Mademoiselle Arielle." The husky voice whispers in her ear and tickles the wisps by her face. A jolt ran through her body as he continued.

"Oui, Monsieur," Arielle blushed. "It would be an honor to walk with you."


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras has always been my favorite. I couldn't help but think, however, that he HAD to love a person just as much (if not more) than France. I kind of wish I was Arielle (The one of my creation, not Disney's.) REVIEW! Please? I'll update as often as possible.

Disclaimer: If I actually owned this stuff, would I be here?

**Chapter 2**

When it was announced to the older women that Enjolras and Arielle were going for a stroll in the park, Madams Reaume and Lacoursiere exchanged a terribly knowing glance. However, Enjolras was anything but an open book. He remained silent and stiff as a board. Worse, still, he refused to take her arm in the proper fashion.

Outdoors, the weather had gotten worse. The sky was much darker. Clouds black as ebony rolled through the sky at an alarming rate. The wind had picked up and fiercely threatened to blow the trees from the ground and send them hurtling to the sky. Not a soul inhabited the typically over-crowded Jardin des Tuileries. It was an odd feeling, being the only things able to stand up straight when the rest of the world was bent over. Traveling silently through time and space, bringing solidity to chaos.

Arielle fumed inwardly at Enjolras' wicked behavior. The silence was not altogether unpleasant, but it was very inappropriate for him (as a gentleman) to refuse to speak. She was, however, driven by her upbringing, inclined to trap him with small talk and then force a real conversation out of him.

"So Monsieur, I have heard that you attend the university?"

"Yes."

"How many years have you studied there?"

"Three." That made him about nineteen, if Arielle's math was correct. Which it usually was.

"What is it you are studying?"

"I do not wish to discuss it."

Arielle fell silent. The pair reached the middle of the park and had turned to go back when they were ambushed by a gaggle of young street urchins begging for money. Arielle desperately fingered the ribbon of her hat, both to keep it from flying away and in despair. The children were dirty and ragged and certainly vicious. Most were peppered with scars and infected cuts. Their clothing was grey with filth and tattered to shreds.

"Will you give them money, Mademoiselle Lacoursiere?"

Enjolras' voice seemed genuinely interested. But Arielle did not have a single coin upon her, and it broke her heart to see one of the littlest girls staring up at her with such hope in her big brown eyes.

"Non, I am terribly sorry, I have no coins with me. I am sorry."

Although she had done nothing wrong, Arielle felt immense guilt. Especially when she saw the look of pure disgust Enjolras shot her before he kneeled onto the ground. Out of his pockets came six francs and three handfuls of candies. He smiled at the children with bright white teeth and spoke to them for a bit. Finally they ran off again, giggling, much happier than when they had arrived. When they were out of sight he stood, brushed the dirt off his knees, and turned back to Arielle with a scowl.

"'Non, I have nothing.' Are you quite serious? Do you realize how much better off you are than them?"

"I-"

"I do not think you do! Every day those children wake up and have to beg in order to survive. At night they sleep in gutters and doorways, while the disgustingly wealthy upper class members like you sleep on feather beds with maids to tend to you and warm fires. You really had nothing? What about that pretty silver necklace? Your gloves, the fine shawl, anything!"

"Monsieur! I have had quite enough of people telling me what to do! You are the worst kind of hypocrite that ever existed. I am despicable, yet you just attended an opera in a gold coach cared for by footmen and a driver!"

"Why did not you give them the necklace, then?"

"This necklace," Arielle's temper boiled higher and higher each second with her voice. "Was given to me by grandmother when she was on her deathbed. It is the only thing I have of hers and I intend to keep it for the rest of my life. Thank you _very_ much!"

Enjolras stood motionless, surprised at the outburst, but Arielle did not wait for him to respond. She began stomping down the path back to the opera house, where the carriage would be waiting. Over her shoulder she shouted, "I hope I never see you again! Good day sir!"

There was no response.


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel: Thank you so much! That's very kind of you! And don't worry-I intend to continue this story for a while.

As always everybody, please REVIEW!

**Chapter 3**

The gall of that insufferable man! How dare he?

Weeks later, Arielle was still furious. Madame Lacoursiere was so disappointed that he had not come to call. But her daughter was thrilled.

"But dear one, there was such a connection between you!"

A connection of instant hatred, maybe.

Despite her strong feelings, Arielle had thrown herself into studying the class structures of France. Any time she went out, she carried part of her allowance and handed it out to the drudges lining the street. It was the Christian thing to do anyways, regardless of what Enjolras said. Experiencing the hope and gratitude in their faces was the most humbling feeling in the world.

So on this day, the 24th of May, Arielle sat in her parlor and embroidered a handkerchief while she replayed that disastrous day in her mind. Over. And over. And over. She could not get that glaring look of hatred out of her vision.

"Arielle! Arrrrrriiieeeeelllllllllllll leeeeee!" The drawn out wail rang through the mansion.

The embroidery fell out of her lap as she abruptly stood up. Her mother was in urgent distress.

"Mama," Arielle called. "I am here Mama."

Moments later, Madame Lacoursiere skidded into the parlor, clutching her chest, large skirts swinging violently, and grabbed her daughter by the shoulders.

"Arielle! News! The best! The worst!"

"Is everything alright Mama?"

"Dear Diahanne Reaume has sent her card, imploring us to come for supper tonight. And her wonderful Enjolras will be attending as well!"

"Oh sweet Lord in heaven," Arielle muttered under her breath. Of course he would be there.

"Now is not the time to give thanks. What have you to wear? Nothing decent! We must take something from Evaline's room."

A somber and sudden silence fell over both of them. Evaline's possessions were in a trunk, where they had remained since the day she fell to fever. Arielle's older sister had been engaged and had collected a fine assortment of beautiful gowns from her fiancé as a wedding present. Gowns she never got the chance to wear.

"No matter," said Madame Lacoursiere. "She would have wanted you to have them."

"I do not feel well enough."

"Nonsense."

"I have turned my ankle."

"Pain is beauty, darling."

"I despise him."

"Funny girl! You two got along so well at the opera!"

And so Arielle was strapped into a very low cut, brilliantly red gown and forced onto the doorstep of one of the richest families in Paris.

Supper was served with a heavy side of mortification. Every attendee was older than at least thirty, except for Enjolras. Who was very conveniently seated right across from her. Arielle made a point of speaking only when spoken to by others. She entirely ignored the filthy hypocrite dressed in dashing black. The meal was lovely of course, but very extravagant. No woman ate more than four bites of chicken and six of salmon. Arielle was the only lady to touch her slice of decadent chocolate cake.

After supper was finished and the company had moved to the parlor, talk turned to politics. Nearly everyone agreed that Lamarque was a plague to the country. But instead of adding her unwanted opinion, Arielle watched Enjolras. His expression grew increasingly stony as he listened to the mounting hatred towards the lower class. Those pretty blue eyes were the iced-over Seine at midnight in midwinter. Freezing, hard, and dangerous. The tension in his clenched jaw was tighter than her corset strings. Only Madame Reaume noticed the silence of the young people.

"Nephew, why not bring Mademoiselle Lacoursiere for a stroll in the gardens?"

"As you wish it."

Arielle had no choice but to take his offered arm. The suit jacket was soft and rough on her bare arm. Outside, the spring night was cooling fast and she regretted leaving her shawl indoors.

"Here," Enjolras slipped out of the jacket. "You must not freeze. Take it."

Arielle shoved his arms away. "I do not want it. Why not give it to the masses and let them sell it for a meal?"

The strength of the sarcasm even made her cringe inside. "Mademoiselle, I wish to apologize for my horrendous behavior the last time we met. I . . . I was atrocious and unfair and I am truly sorry."

"Atrocious! Unfair! Understatements, Monsieur!" And with that she lifted her nose and drove the heel of her shoe into the toe of his right boot. Admirably, Enjolras winced and grabbed his leg but did not falter.

"You . . . are very strong." Was that a blush she detected?

"Thank you. But I do not know that I am prepared to forgive you."

"What else am I to say?"

"Your words were very harmful."

"But they made you reconsider, did they not? I notice you did not take part in the conversation inside."

Arielle conceded, a little. Pride, however, was not finished with him. "You had no right to speak to me the way you did."

Something inside Enjolras broke and the red hot temper flew out of his composure. "Good Lord! The devil himself is not this stubborn! Ignorant girl!"

"Ignorant? You think I am ignorant?" She stormed into his personal space, making the situation far more uncomfortable than it already was.

"No. . .No, I did not mean it like that-"

"Oh the wonderful Enjolras, such an attractive and skilled young man he is. But the real reason he is loved so? His passion for offending people woos even the hardest heart! Oh the anger! Oh his way with words! How incredibly romantic he is!"

"Red . . . is a lovely color on you."

"Par_don_?"

"Mademoiselle, I know you are angry with me. You have every right to be. I am behaving as a fool, a halfwit."

"Indeed you are!"

"But will you consider this question? Am I wrong in calling you stubborn?"

The truth startled Arielle. Her behavior was incredibly unbecoming and a shame to her upbringing. Shivers of embarrassment and cold wracked her body. Once more Enjolras offered his jacket and this time she accepted. It smelled nice, very masculine and real. At least he had apologized.

"Will you walk with me, so that I may apologize and redeem myself?"

Arielle considered. He was so very handsome, and she did owe him after that awful outburst.

"Oui, I will."

Gardens in evening were more than dull. But cheerful, albeit cautious, conversation lit the night like the sun. When the party inside began to break up, the pair made their way down the path towards the house.

"Thank you Monsieur Enjolras for your coat." Truthfully, she was reluctant to give it up.

"But of course."

Arielle began to climb the marble steps alone but turned thoughtfully back to the figure in the dark. He stood as always with perfect posture, but a new look spread across his face that she could not quite place.

"We match."

"Pardon?"

"Our eyes. They are the same."

Enjolras gave a stunning smile, his teeth white and clean. It tore the stress and agony off his face.

"Oui, Mademoiselle Arielle, I suppose we do match."

And with that, she departed.


	5. Chapter 5

-Thanks so much! It's really nice to hear that

StarlitWave10- He's mine! ;)

Juliet116-That's very sweet, thank you!

Okay I just want to apologize really quickly for not updating sooner. I was abroad for a while and then my computer deleted all my files so I had to start everything over. Everything. On the bright side, I was able to come up with some (in my opinion) new and great ideas for the story!

If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to PM me! I'm open to ideas.

P.S. The song I had in mind when I wrote the waltz was A River Flows in You by Yurima. Check it out, it's an absolutely amazingly beautiful piece.

Thanks to everyone for your support, and please keep reviewing.

Disclaimer: Do we need to go over this again?

Chapter 4

_June 6, 1830_

_ Today is my seventeenth birthday, and Mama insists upon celebrating with a ball. I do wish she had allowed me to manage some of the preparations, but I will be walking into that ballroom not knowing what to expect. Instead, I am spending this day before my vanity table as Lulu and Gigi ready me. After I bathed in rose water this morning, I spent four hours waiting for my hair to dry and now it has nearly finished. To be a doll is so awfully dull. _

_ My dance card for the evening has already been filled, but Mama refuses to inform me of who my partners shall be. I cannot well describe my love of dancing, but dancing with suitors is quite plaguing. When one shares a dance, she shares a moment of passion, of expression, of love. For the dance is a representation of the soul. It is no small thing, to willingly share one's soul with another human being. Perhaps Mama believes that the surprise will force me to enjoy their company more. Hardly. As Tutor so often enjoys quoting from Marcus Aurelius, "How ridiculous and how strange to be surprised." I wholeheartedly agree. For example, I know for a fact that Captain Edmund Girard shall be high on Mama's list. He is a man for whom I feel the utmost dislike and one most unwelcome 'surprise'. Pretentious and assuming, but from a family with much money. Marriage, and indeed the world, revolves around wealth. So, of course, Mama is enamored with him, almost as much as she is with . . . Enjolras. _

_ I first believed Enjolras to be rude, unkind, and very much my least favorite person on God's great Earth. Although so incredibly handsome that it is not even fair, I first thought his hypocritical nature insufferable. But after speaking with him at the dinner party that night, I have decided that he is merely passionate, ambitious, well learned and adamant. What he wants most in the world is to spread justice and equality. He is a bit like Papa, but often becomes swept up in his thoughts and, consequentially, loses control of his temper. For this reason, I do not entirely blame him for his actions. Enjolras is otherwise very kind and charming, befitting a gentleman of any social class. His judgments of me were at first quite harsh, and so my pride still needles slightly in his presence. But in spite of all this, I eagerly anticipate seeing him again. I look forward to speaking with him and to perhaps pursuing friendship._

_ Of Papa, quickly, before Mama returns: He is abroad in England, and has been for so long, on urgent business for the government. It is disappointing that he shall not be present at the ball tonight, and I worry about his health in the wicked weather of that country. I pray for God to be with my dear Papa always. _

_Arielle Lisette Lacoursiere_

Arielle laid down her journal and slipped it beneath a pillow just as her mother entered the bedchamber. Madame Lacoursiere was accompanied by a parade of servants lugging beribboned boxes and heavy cases of material.

"Lulu, arrange the wigs in an orderly fashion so that the Mademoiselle may choose one. And for heaven's sake, put out the fire. It is hotter than Hades in here."

She whirled around, fanning herself fervently, and faced her daughter, who sat perched on the edge of her four poster bed.

"You are going to look a picture, dear one, even if it takes all of the life from me."

For once, Arielle did not bother with a retort.

"Now," Madame steered Arielle over the vanity and pushed her into the chair. The large mirror gave view to the entire backwards state of the bedroom. "Hair."

At the snap of a finger, three maids scurried over with various tools to tackle Arielle's hair with. Three too many because, as a matter of fact, Arielle was quite pleased with her natural hair.

"Now, dear one, we must choose a wig. Your gown is pink of course, but I was thinking that the one with the golden birds attached throughout would look simply marvelous, or the wig with the silver bells or . . ."

"Mama, no."

"No, what? Birds? They are quite the style these days and I am sure that Captain-"

"I do not want to wear a wig. Actually, I absolutely refuse to wear one. It is a ridiculous image. I am not a bird; why should birds nest on my head?"

Arielle bit her lip nervously as she watched her mother fret behind her in the mirror. But at the same time Arielle knew that as time passed and age continued to prey upon her, she would have to become her own person. She had no desire to end up as a foolish product of society's whims. Life was an art; a woman had to form herself out of a balance.

"Lulu, put the wigs away. Julianna and Gigi, I want height here, in the center see? And then coming down the back, put . . .

She had won. Shocked, her mouth dropped open. Madame Lacoursiere noticed and snapped,

"Close your mouth. It is quite unbecoming."

The hurt on Arielle's face softened the tension on her mother's.

"I apologize dear one. I worry for you so much, and for your Papa while he is gone, and for the state of the gov-for the state of the ball."

"For the state of what?"

"The ball, the ball dear one. It is summertime after all. The heat can be deadly."

Those words, that covering up, played across Arielle's mind for the rest of the day. Madame had to mean government, but what was wrong with the government? Papa was a part of the government. Were they in danger because of it? To her credit, Arielle did not allow her curiosity to upset her anxious mother further. As the hours ticked by and the daylight faded, worry seceded to excitement. Finally, her hair was finished. The process of dressing began. Lulu yanked Arielle's corset strings as Arielle clung to the back of a chair and clenched her teeth. Layers and layers of fabric brushed past her face when the dress was put on and adjusted. At last, as six o' clock approached, Arielle stood before a gold lined looking glass.

The gown was a rich shade of pale pink that cinched at the waist and then flowed into full skirts. Capped sleeves and a rounded neckline added a touch of youth to a pure silk creation of elegance and grace. Arielle's dark blonde hair rose in a pouf on the back of her head and then fell in thick, long ringlets across her right shoulder. Short, wispy curls framed a lightly painted heart shaped face. Only the blue-green eyes, rimmed in kohl, and the cheekbones, dusted with rouge, were decorated. She felt radiant and, yet, still herself.

"I have forgotten!" shouted Madame. The older lady never raised her voice, and so the sudden volume was terribly alarming. "Ah," Madame slipped Arielle a suspicious smile and trotted out of the room, oddly calm after the outburst. "I will go and retrieve it," She called over her shoulder. "Have patience, dear one. I shall be right back."

The strange silence was welcome. It was otherworldly, to be alone in a grand chamber and dressed as a queen, surrounded by beautiful things and possibilities. Stories and fairytales all began like this, with years worth of pent up apprehension and anticipation woven into a single moment in time.

A knock on the heavy wooden door resounded through Arielle's thoughts and when Monsieur Lacoursiere was found to be standing in the doorway, all daydreams were forgotten.

"Oh Papa, you're home!" Arielle ran to him and hugged him and nearly wept with relief. "I've been so worried, with the horrid weather and the sea and your health and business and-"

The faint smell of tobacco and peppermint permeated the air. Her father gave a hearty chuckle and shook his head playfully. "Darling child, you worry more than your mother. Would you really care to have her wrinkles at such a young age?"

Both laughed at this. "Step back, my Arielle, and let me look at my grown up child." She obliged and noticed a wistful look in his eye. "More beautiful and intelligent with each passing day. If I could find a way for you to attend the university . . .but alas, your gender would not allow it."

"It is enough that you would wish it for me, Papa. That is the best gift of all." And truly, it was. "I am so blessed that I can at least continue to learn from tutor and from you."

The quiet moments soon came to an end and Arielle found herself standing before the great doors of the grand ballroom. Footmen prepared for the cue.

" . . .and on her seventeenth birthday, Mademoiselle Arielle Lisette Lacoursiere."

The two doors swung open and revealed a room bursting with clapping nobility. Arielle swept in and made her way to the center of the floor, where she folded into a Grand Curtsy.

"Thank you all for helping me to celebrate my birthday."

After this entrance, the musicians struck up an obligatory introductory piece and people began milling around. Arielle was stunned by the beauty of the decorating. The diamond chandelier was freshly polished. Everywhere, crystal bowls of newly cut roses filled the air with a sweet scent. A four-layer chocolate cake was positioned in the center of a table covered with plates of macaroons, complete with thick ribbons of white buttercream frosting. In the back, a quintet of musicians played their shiny instruments. The fourteen foot windows, with the curtains drawn back, showed a panoramic view of the immense back gardens.

A throat cleared, and Arielle knew the first suitor had come to put a damper upon the evening. But when she whirled around and recognized his face, no words came to mind. Once more in all black, but this time it did not seem all that offensive.

"Might I have this dance?" Enjolras clicked his heels together and bowed.

The surprise was indeed genuine, but most certainly not ridiculous.

Arielle curtsied deeply and laid her hand on his arm, a certain thrill beginning to course through her veins. Both stepped into position, him with a hand on her waist and her with one on his shoulder. The musicians struck up the first dancing tune, a flowing, lilting waltz, and the couple began to move around the ballroom. Enjolras was incredibly easy to follow, moving lightly through the most difficult of turns and leading her expertly through the swells in the music.

"Happy birthday Arielle."

"So casual, Monsieur." She teased. "Are you entirely sure that your name is Enjolras?" Words came easy, comfort settled in. His presence was like that of the sun in the sky constant and steady, he exuded both confidence and constancy.

"Resolutely. But can I be sure that you are Arielle? You have yet to attack me." Arielle paled, a little, in embarrassment, but when he laughed with that bright smile she could not help but follow suit.

There was a certain artistry of life in dancing, not able to be recreated in any other form. And this dance was like no other. A celebration of youth and beauty, the children of the sun moved through the music in unison. Enjolras would always be this first dance, sweet and real.

"I am surprised to see you here."

"Oh?' He was amused and intrigued, one light blonde eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other.

"How are you managing to stomach all the waste of my party?"

"Perhaps you are distracting me enough that I manage to forget."

There was no proper way to answer him. After several more near-breathless moments, the music slowed.

"I must ask you a question Arielle."

"Yes?" Her heart jigged in her throat.

"I am afraid I must wait until later. Your next partner is upon us."

Indeed, as expected Captain Girard was making his way towards the pair. As the final trills of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, Enjolras gave a final bow and pulled away. But Arielle reached out and touched his sleeve. He turned back around at the touch.

"Would you find me by the cake at eleven?"

Enjolras nodded and disappeared into the mass, leaving Arielle to face Captain Edmund Girard.


	6. Chapter 6

Rainwillmaketheflowersgrow:

PhoenixFlames12: That is so incredibly kind of you, and I'm honored that you think that of my work. Thank you!

StarlitWave10: Thank you!

MorningThief: Thank you! I love Yurima's music so much, it's really incredible.

Thesightofthestars: Thank you!

Again thank you to everyone who has been reading, and everyone who has been reviewing. I am so so sorry I haven't updated sooner! Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's mainly dialogue for a reason. Cheers!

Chapter 5

"Capitaine Girard." Arielle dipped her head but refused to curtsy.

"Ah, sweet mademoiselle" The brunette bent to kiss Arielle's hand without invitation. His moustache tickled and she snatched her hand away, properly upset.

"Monsieur, I cannot condone such forward behavior."

"Of course, my dear. Now, dance with me." Without any warning, he grabbed her waist and forced her into dance position. When the music stuck up once more, this time with a slight Spanish undertone, Arielle found herself being pushed around the room. Several times she stumbled, a mortifying movement that never occurred, and grew infuriated with each passing second. The captain's proximity hid the rest of the room. He was quite handsome, with light brown hair and deep chocolate eyes. As a captain in the army, his body was strong and fit. His height was awe-inspiring and his personality dominating, but the large hand on Arielle's back was met by a spine of pure inflexible steel which refused to soften.

"Now Arielle-"

"Mademoiselle Lacoursiere is the name you shall call me."

"Arielle Lisette, now that you are of marriageable age, I feel that it is my duty to court you."

"It hardly benefits me to spend time with such an ignoramus, Captain."

"My sweet Arielle, let us not discuss my attributes. I would not want to cause other young ladies heartbreak." He dragged her through a particularly tight turn as his dark eyes drifted towards a group of young girls mingling together over Arielle's head.

"I am hardly yours."

"But in this moment I possess you." These unfortunate words kindled a bonfire inside Arielle's soul.

"I do not belong to anyone."

"You are woman, and so you are possessed by man. Man shall own you forever more."

"Incorrect, Monsieur."

"Correct as I, in fact, typically am. Women are too simple to control their destinies."

Arielle stopped mid-dance and resisted the Captain's pull, peaking the curiosity of the surrounding couples. "Excuse me? Au contraire, _Edmund_. I am woman, and therefore a self-governed individual. Man cannot possess man, and man can most certainly not possess woman. I challenge you, Captain, to find any woman in the world willing to submit to the destiny of a lifetime with you. I pity and pray for that poor soul. Now if you will excuse me," she wrenched her body from his grip and started for the back of the ballroom. "It is my birthday and I intend to enjoy myself. Carry on." Arielle motioned to the musicians to continue playing as she swept to the windows. Her triumphant heels clicked past gaping guests. A blush of embarrassment and fury stood as an explanation for their awe. The open windows stretched from the marble floor to the frescoed ceiling and allowed a warm breeze to tickle the curls framing Arielle's face and neck. She leaned her head against the firm frame and stared up into the starry sky. Each twinkling light created a sense of magic and splendor. Really, she was quite pleased to be finished with the Captain. A woman did not have to marry unless she fell deeply in love, and each living being controlled its own destiny. If-

"Arielle!"

Arielle sighed inwardly and tore herself from the window, back into a reality of flushed faces and social cues. The lack of 'dear' indicated her mother's fury, as she crossed to her daughter while nodding pleasantly to various societal matrons and glided over with a clenched jaw and a tick just above her right eyebrow.

"Dear girl," Madame Lacoursiere's tight grip on Arielle's upper arm deceived the calm expression she wore as she turned Arielle towards the window in order to avoid prying eyes. "Have you no tact?"

"Mama-"

"Enough." Madame held up a hand in order to silence her daughter. "You have no right to treat such a grand man as Edmund Girard in such a horrible manner. What if you have ruined all marriage opportunities with him? What shall we do if no better suitors come along? Now, please behave." With that, she was gone. Arielle touched her arm and bit back tears of fury. Treat Edmund Girard with respect. As though the chauvinist pig deserved respect!

Over the next few hours, Arielle waltzed, polka-ed, and tangoed her way through twelve more gentlemen. Each man was just as bad as the last. Wilhelm stank of whiskey. Georges had only read two books in his life. The list of negative character traits built itself up in Arielle's mind and she found herself comparing every man to Enjolras.

The overwhelming heat of the summer evening, coupled with the exertion of floating effortlessly through dances, made Arielle's head spin. But as eleven approached and the ball began to decline, she seized her opportunity.

"Oh, dear," feigned Arielle. The portly banker's son she was dancing with looked up in alarm. "The heat . . .is quite . . .overwhelming."

"Shall I fetch Mademoiselle some wine?"

"No . . .no . . .but would you forgive me if I excused myself?"

Without waiting for and answer Arielle drifted away and off the dance floor. There, standing as though unaffected by the heat, was the man who caused yet another flush to rise to Arielle's cheeks. She walked up behind him and stood on her toes in order to speak in his ear.

"Monsieur Enjolras," He jumped and turned to face her. "Have you danced with any other young ladies this evening?"

The expression on his face caused a laugh to rise out of both of them.

"There is no other young lady here with whom I would enjoy to dance. But I do have something serious to speak with you about, as I had mentioned."

"Yes?"

"I am a member of a . . . society . . . of friends from the university who meet to have discussions about . . . modern events. Under normal circumstances I would not dare say this but, knowing the degree of your intelligence, I would like to invite you to join me-us."

His coloring darkened visibly and Arielle's heart softened another degree towards him. Enjolras' intentions were, she knew, strictly honorable and heartfelt. But there was something suspicious about the way he averted his eyes.

"I cannot help but feel that you are not being entirely honest with me. You are, in fact, a man who rarely stutters."

"I am not hiding anything. It offends my honor that you would think such. Join us, and you shall see for yourself."

"I would greatly enjoy it. I have always wanted to attend university and it would be interesting to converse with students."

"Shall I send a note explaining the full details of our next meeting?"

"Yes, please."

Arielle smiled up at him and he reciprocated. Meanwhile, the music of the final dance of the evening slowed and ended. The spell of a summer's evening that held Arielle's and Enjolras' gaze was broken by the drab presence of the butler, who was urging a herd of guests to the main doors.

"Farewell."

"Thank you, for everything."

_. . . and as I age, I find that the marriage plot is thickening. Every man I danced with tonight is in possession of several estates and sickening sums of money. My only hope is that Papa values love above wealth, or else I shall end up wed to a disgusting man who forces me to wish I never lived. I must ask Tutor for readings on the treatment of women through arranged marriage in historic cultures. Were we always this objectified? I enjoy being able to dress well and employ grace, but it is for myself and not for the pleasure of men._

_The ball was not what I expected and I find myself dissatisfied. While it was perfectly lovely to resemble a princess, it stands that only one gentleman was consistently polite and worth my time._

_It is so late, and I so tired, and with parting words I shall lay down my head and drift away on the promises and opportunities of my dreams._

_Arielle Lisette Lacoursiere_

In the hours after the end of the ball, Arielle's thick hair had been brushed into a blonde cloud that fell over the white shoulders of her nightgown and onto the soft bedclothes trimmed in purple. The pink dress had been packaged and would be given to a less wealthy rich girl in the form of charity. As she lay down the blue silk journal and slipped it under her pillow, Arielle's gaze turned to a thought provoking gift that lay on the wooden nightstand. The breathtakingly stunning fan had been waiting, wrapped, when she returned to her room. Each painstakingly hand-painted gold line was coated in a shining dust that glittered in the light over a white canvas. Intricate detailed gold roses curled up the sides and blended into the image of a dove. It was both elegant and simple at once. The note attached to the box it arrived in was simply signed:

-_E_


End file.
